


Residue

by AzelmaandEponine



Series: Nationverse fics [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Nationverse, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective America (Hetalia), Recovery, Scars, ameliet - Freeform, canada appears but he's only in one scene, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzelmaandEponine/pseuds/AzelmaandEponine
Summary: Sometimes Lithuania wasn't okay.
Relationships: America/Lithuania (Hetalia)
Series: Nationverse fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722397
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Residue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at tackling the aftermath of Russia's abuse.
> 
> Wish me luck. I hope it's not too terrible, but it probably is.
> 
> Also, you can assume America's autistic in literally everything I write, even if it's not mentioned.

The first time it happened, it was shortly after Lithuania’s independence. He’d been visiting America when he dropped a dish, resulting in the dish shattering as it hit the floor, sending shards of glass all over the floor.

As America dashed into the room, Lithuania had gone wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. His face had gone ashen, and he’d been shaking and unresponsive.

It had taken several minutes of reassurances to draw Lithuania out of it.

“Tolys?” America had said uncertainly, hating how helpless he felt. “Are you okay?”

Lithuania gave a tight smile that in no way reached his green eyes.

“I’m fine, Alfred,” he’d answered.

“Tolys, you just had a panic attack after dropping a dish in my kitchen—” America had begun.

“—and I’m alright now,” Lithuania had said. “Thank you, Alfred. Actually, I’m a bit tired, could I—”

“Sure,” America had responded. “The guest room’s still down the hall from my room.”

America had watched as Lithuania left, then got started on cleaning up the shards of glass. He could talk to Lithuania about what had happened tomorrow.

He didn’t.

* * *

When they got together years later, in the twenty-first century, America quickly noticed that it was far from an isolated incident.

Lithuania was staying with him for a while  (“I look forward to seeing what a mess your place has become without me,” Lithuania had teased, his voice laced with affection. He’d backtracked once America had taken mock-offense, not realizing America was joking); America asked a fairly innocuous question—if Lithuania was hungry.

The reaction was instantaneous.

In a manner that made America think back to that evening in his kitchen, Lithuania went ashen and began trembling—his green eyes glazed over—

“Tolys? Tolys!” America cried. “Are you okay? Tolys!”

Lithuania was murmuring distressed words.

America tried not to panic; he wasn’t _good_ at this. Comforting and understanding how others were feeling was in Canada’s skillset, not his.

But what kind of hero couldn’t comfort his own boyfriend?

“Okay, Tolys, breathe, I need you to breathe, okay?” America said, fighting to his voice soft and gentle. He took Lithuania’s hands. Slowly, Lithuania’s breathing seemed to come under control.

“You good, man?” America asked.

Lithuania nodded, but didn’t look like it.

“You wanna tell me what that was?” America asked. 

“It was nothing,” Lithuania said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“A little too late for that, dude. I’m already worried,” America pointed out. “You can tell me. I don’t remember you being this jittery...”

“Just—a bad memory,” Lithuania said. He met America’s gaze, and America suddenly was reminded of how _old_ Lithuania was. “A lot can change eighty years, you know.”

Something uncomfortable settled in the pit of America’s stomach. 

“Tolys—” he began.

“I’ll tell you, I promise,” Lithuania said. “Just—later, okay?”

America nodded.

“Later,” he said.

* * *

Months passed, and America found himself learning more and more of what had changed about Lithuania.

Sometimes Lithuania craved touch; sometimes he couldn’t _stand_ being touched.

America found himself approaching and backing away in accordance with Lithuania’s moods.

“I’m sorry,” Lithuania said miserably one day. “I know I’m giving mixed signals, and this is already hard for you—”

“It’s not your fault,” America said. “I’m going to make this better, Tolys. I promise.”

Lithuania gave him a tired smile in response.

“We’re nations, Alfred,” he said. “That’s not really something you can promise.”

* * *

Things came to a head when America saw Lithuania without a shirt. Even when they made out, or had sex, Lithuania always kept his shirt on. America had thought it was strange, but shrugged it off. Everybody had their preferences.

But this—

They’d gone swimming together; America had offered to rub sunscreen on Lithuania’s back, but Lithuania had been adamant that he could handle it. America didn’t dwell on it; maybe he was hovering too much?

It wasn’t until they’d headed to the showers that America saw the real reason. 

Lithuania’s back was littered with scars.

America’s mind went blaring red; it didn’t look like a scar obtained from a battle. There were too many for that to be the case—and Lithuania hadn’t had those when he’d lived with him before.

These had been _caused_.

And given a nation’s ability to heal, it must have happened a _lot_.

Something hot, primal, and protective flared in America—he was a _superpower_ , he could make whoever pay—

“Dude, what happened to your back?” America blurted out, louder than he’d intended to.

Lithuania jumped, then looked around anxiously.

“ _Alfred!”_ he hissed. “Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry,” America said. “Seriously, though, what happened? They from a battle or something?”

America knew very well they weren’t.

“I—” Lithuania began, gaze growing distant.

“Tolys?”

“Later,” Lithuania said. At America’s frown he hastily added, “Soon! I promise. Just not here.”

America nodded, suspicions already forming in his mind.

* * *

“Alfred, you need to calm down.”

“How can I _calm down_ , Matt? R—somebody _hurt_ Tolys—”

“ _And you flying off the handle and going off half-cocked won’t help him_ ,” Canada said.

America sighed, the rage still simmered, but it was more under control, his head was clearer.

Canada was right.

“So, what do I do, then?” he asked. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Just be there for him,” Canada said. “You can’t fix everything, Al.”

* * *

That night, America ended up running into Lithuania’s room at the sound of yelling. There was no attacker, but Lithuania was writhing and twisting in his bed sheets. 

America ran to his side and was able to shake him awake, but not before Lithuania hit him in the face.

“America,” he breathed. “You’re here.”

“Uh. Yeah? It’s my house,” America said. “You alright—?”

Lithuania pulled America into a bone-crushing hug.

“Bad dream?” America asked.

“Yeah. Bad memory, actually,” Lithuania said, then let out a startled gasp. “What happened to your face?”

“Oh—it’s a funny story, really—” America began, searching for something, anything to tell him. He knew how Lithuania would react if he knew how it really happened. 

“Did—did _I_ do that?” Lithuania asked hesitantly.

“Uh—”

Lithuania’s face crumpled.

“I’m so so sorry, Alfred!” he cried.

“Dude, it’s fine—”

“It’s not _fine,_ I _hurt_ you—”

“You were unconscious and in the middle of a nightmare! I probably would have done the same,” America pointed out. Lithuania fell silent, but still looked miserable. He took a deep breath. “You need anything?”

“Some water, please?” Lithuania said.

“Right. I’ll be right back,” America said. He retrieved a glass of water and gave it to Lithuania, who took small sips.

“Was it him?” America eventually asked.

Lithuania flinched, but nodded.

“Yes,” Lithuania said. “It was.”

“And your back?” America asked.

Lithuania was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he eventually said. “That was him, too.”

America felt a flurry of emotions; horror, anger, _guilt_ —

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Lithuania’s brow furrowed.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked.

“I wasn’t there when you needed me,” America said, tears pricking at his eyes. “Or when _any_ of you needed me. You, Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine, Belarus—what kind of hero can’t even save people?”

Lithuania reached forward and took America’s hand.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Alfred,” he said. “Not without destroying the world. Heroes don’t do that, either.”

America didn’t feel much better, but nodded. He wasn’t the one who needed comforting.

* * *

No matter how many times America told Lithuania that he was safe now, that Russia wouldn’t hurt him again, it didn’t seem to work.

“It’s not that I don’t _know_ I’m safe now,” Lithuania said one day as they shot hoops. In the same way that baseball was America’s sport and hockey was Canada’s, basketball was Lithuania’s. “I just don’t always _feel_ safe.”

He shot the ball into the basket with a swoosh.

“Because of Russia,” America said. It wasn’t a question. 

Lithuania focused on shooting another basket.

“Don’t you want revenge?” America asked as the ball bounced over to him. “You should be angry.”

Lithuania just looked at him.

“What’s that ever done, except make things worse?” he said. “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t—I’m not—”

He stopped, but they both knew what he’d been about to say.

“Don’t say that, Tolys,” America said, dropping the ball and approaching him, pulling him into a hug. “Of course you’re worth it. Don’t talk like--like you’re not important. Cause you’re really important to me.”

Lithuania hugged back.

* * *

Whenever there was an international dispute with Russia at the root cause, Lithuania would fly into a panic.

He’d either call America on the phone, or, if they were in the same place, America would draw him out of a panic attack.

This incident was the latter.

“He’s not going to take you away again. I won’t let him,” America said.

Lithuania gripped his hair.

“He’s always taken me back! I should’ve known it was going to happen eventually—”

“Tolys.”

“—I can’t go back—”

“Tolys!”

“—not _again—_ ”

Without thinking, America grabbed his iPod, placed an earbud in his boyfriend’s ear, and blasted “Down Under”.

Lithuania quieted.

“Do you feel better?” America asked.

“A little,” Lithuania said.

But Lithuania couldn’t listen to music all the time.

* * *

Sometimes Lithuania wasn’t okay.

After forcing himself to remember that Lithuania wasn’t made of glass, America realized this. There were good days, where he was more like the nation who’d been his housekeeper in the 20s.

And there were bad days, where Lithuania couldn’t stand to be touched, where he was jittery, jumpy, and anxiety ridden.

And there wasn’t much America could do about other than—as Canada had put it that day on the phone—be there for him.

Maybe there wasn’t an instant cure for trauma caused by Russia’s abuse, America mused as he and Lithuania sat on his couch, playing Animal Crossing. But if doing things that made Lithuania helped him feel better, even for a little while, that’s what he would do.

Maybe Lithuania wasn’t okay sometimes, and maybe he was different now. But that didn’t mean America loved him any less.

**Author's Note:**

> I picked "Down Under" for the song America plays to calm Lithuania down because there's a Lithuanian cover of it, so I figured he'd like the song.


End file.
